


Will you still need me?

by Norwegian_Bird



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norwegian_Bird/pseuds/Norwegian_Bird
Summary: "C'mon Macca, keep yer' eyes open." John pleaded, tears threathened to spill form his eyes, but he kept on furiously blinking them away, "Stay with me, baby."





	Will you still need me?

**_\- Smack -_ **

Paul slapped John's face so hard that the soud echoed through the abandoned streets. The silence in the wake of the sudden violence rang terribly in John's ears. Paul's chest heaved; his handprint burned across John's cheek like a brand. Any other day, with any other person, John would've gladly jumped to fight back, drowning in reckless pointless rage - but this was Paul; and when John saw the look on Paul's face, the fight began to drain out of him. Paul looked... stone cold. Not angry, despite his chest heaving. He didn't even look hurt. His cheeks weres still flushed with alcohol, but his eyes had never looked more sober as he gazed at John, like he was nothing to him - just not worth it.

John withered under that cool stare, slowly shaking his head. He had earned every inch of that slap and more. He didn't deserve to be here in Hamburg, with these guys. He didn't deseverve a fucking shit. He had just insulted his dead mother, and then, out of shame and desperation, insulted Paul's mother too. Paul's, also dead mother. He hadn't crossed the line, he had bloody crushed it.

Paul held onto John's stare for a little longer before he straightened his tie and gulped. His hands were buried deep into his pockets as he turned his back to John, beginning to walk away with his head bowed.

John didn't need to see the look on George and Ringo's faces. Didn't want to. Couldn't do it. But he instictually lifted his head when he heard the sound of fast shoes colliding with the stone cold street. John looked up just in time to see George glancing over his shoulder, sending Ringo a symphatetic look, before he rushed after Paul into the black night.

 

* * *

 

 

The clock struck 02:24 am, and it was precisely 24 hours since Paul had last talked to John. Twenty-fucking-four hours since he'd seen him too. Never had it been that long, ever. And with good reason, because John was starting to feel like he was losing it. Losing it more than he already had. He was a mess. A fucking mess.

George voice had been clear when he spoke, "Paul needs some time for himself. He needs a day off."

That is why John chose to stay in that night. Drinking with George and Ringo didn't really appeal to him when he knew Paul was there in the room right next to his, in what was originally George and Ringo's room. Maybe Paul was angry, disgusted with John's face. Or worse, in pain and hurting from what John said. Or even fucking worse; he didn't care about John anymore, and he was just tired of hanging around him all day. He needed a day off. A day off from John.

John glanced out of the window, and sighed under his breath as he watched the nightsky. What a day it had been. It had been the fucking worst day of his life, except for the day his mother died. John was confident that he would never sleep again, but surely enough, the calming presence of the moon made John slowly close his eyes; his body quietly switching off. It was like his worries, his thoughts, silently burned into smoke as they wondered through the endless night. But then, in his sleep, without warning, they reached him again;

 

_John stared at the clock, silently willing Paul to make up his mind and show up. It was striking 01.00. Paul always showed up in his old man's little car after they had argued, always on the same spot in the park. John would never get why Paul needed to be such a perfectionist. They were supposed to become a rock'n'roll band, and that wasn't going to be all 'Princess Paulie and his friends' like. Surely, it wasn't that mean of a thing to do to enlighten Paul on that case. Maybe he should've kept it down a notch thought, but oh well... he always showed up._

_John was just about to sit down on the bench by the edge of the river and take a quick drag when he heard the squeal of tires and a loud crash following soon after. It sounded like something had happened nearby. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he hurried and tracked down the incident, whipping his head from left to right to find out where noise had come from._

_Finally, he noticed down the road, someone had crashed through a low brick wall and slammed right into a huge tree. The car was completley mangled at the front. Then, John realized that it looked exactly like Paul's car. No, it was Paul's car. His eyes widened and he swore loudly before dashing towards the accident._

_By the time he reached the car, John was out of breath. He panted, but it turned into a cry of despair as he saw the piece of glass that littered Paul's body. His face was scrunched up in pain and blood oozed from a head wound, pouring down the side of his face. Paul's upper lip was split and he had chipped one of his front teeth. The bassist's left arm was bent at an unnatural angle and there were wounds wherever skin followed, more blood seeping from each one. As John tried to assess more of the situation, he noticed that something was horribly wrong._

_The car was on fire._

_"PAUL!" John became frantic. He deperately pulled at the handle of the door, but it was slammed. Yet, determined to get Paul out of there, John pulled with all his strength placing one foot on the side of the car. Finally, the door opened, revealing the rest of Paul's mangled body._

_"J-John...?" Paul's lashes fluttered. His breathing was ragged and uneven. Yet, relief washed through John. He was still alive._

_"Don't worry Macca, I'll get ya outta' here soon!" John promised. Then, he noticed that Paul's legs were trapped. He knew that one of Paul's legs had to be busted in order to get him out, but what choice did he have? John looked to the front of the car, and saw that the fire was slowly but steadily increasing._

_"This is going to hurt, Paul." John tried to keep the panick away as he got to work, trying to be as gentle as possible. He slid Paul's legs out form under the wheel. Paul's pained moanes indicated that at least one leg was indeed broken.Once Paul's legs were free, John picked him up bridal style. The younger cried out, and John knew that the pain had to be almost unbearable now. But he had to get away from the car. Had to get away right now. John ras as fast has his legs could carry him, his legs weakening at the sound of Paul's tortured cries._

_Suddenly, an explosion echoed through the empty streets of Liverpool. Even though John had run far enough, he felt the rush of intense heat on his back. Paul continued to howl in pain, and John's heart continued breaking. Breathing heavily, they went down together on the cold ground, half of Paul's body in John's lap. The cries faded into faint whimpers. Blood continued to trickle down the side of his face and his breathing was even fainter than before._

_"C'mon Macca, keep yer' eyes open." John pleaded, tears threathened to spill form his eyes, but he kept on furiously blinking them away, "Stay with me, baby."_

_"John," Paul said, though not loudly or clearly enough, because John didn't respond, just kept feeling for the wounds, something he couldn't fix, "John..." he said again, but it was more of a sigh than a word. John heard them faintly, but was currently to busy trying to shout for help. A small bubble of blood bursted from Paul's mouth and slid down his cheek. "_

_Fuck, Macca," John shouted as he tried to wrap his arms around Paul's back. "For fuck's sake, I-I need to get help. Stay here, I'll be back before you manage to close yer' eyes - god, please, don't close yer' eyes-"_

_"Johnny," Paul tried for the third time, and this time, John turned his face down so that their eyes met. Paul shivered uncontrollably, causing John to shrug his jacket off and wrap it around Paul. "I-I'm sorry, I'm s-so -"_

_"Oh, no", John interrupted furiously, grabbing his hand, "don't you dare. I'm going to get help and you'll be-"_

_"It's all right. Please, I'm sorry for everything." Paul said with as much strength as he could muster. His eyelids were getting heavier. "Johnny...I love you, y'know-" John started to sob as Paul's voice cracked, his hands finally stopping to look for things to fix and coming up on either side of Paul's face. He pressed their forheads together, weaving trembling fingers through Paul's hair._

_"I love ya too, you goddamn bastard," John whispered. "Oh, God, love, please don't die. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry about everything I've ever said or done. Just please don't leave me. Ya can't leave me, Paulie." Paul smiled, allowing his eyes to slid closed, his lips struggling to part as he whispered one final word,_

_"Love."_

_John starts to sob uncontrollably as he felt Paul's hand weaking in his grip, immediatley pulling Paul's lose body further up in his lap. His lips pressed against his head - against his sweet, dark hair, his body rocking back and forth with Paul's, never intending to let him go. "Paulie-" John's cried into his hair, but his voice cracked, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..." he repeated to the stage were the words only came out as faint murmurs. "God, my  fucking beautiful boy."_

 

John woke up faster than a cat on ice-water, every sense urging him to claw his way to standing. John just stood there, still as a statue as everything recaped in his mind. The thoughts were accelerating inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could breathe but they wouldn't. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny was on repeat in his head, Paul's weak and strangled voice still so clear. John surpressed any sound of breathing, feeling like he would black out any minute.

Paul was alive. Paul was alive, and he was in the room right next to him. He shared his wall. Paul wanted his space, he needed some time on his own. He didn't want John there, and John cared about Paul to the level that he would try to respect that. Not understand it, or accept it, but he would respect it. But still, there was this aching feeling in his body, a shiver his spine that asked him; was Paul really all right? Was he really in his room, sleeping peacefully and being completely safe? Or was the dream trying to tell him somethig?

Oh great, now John wasn't just a bastard - he was a mental bastar. But he had to, he simply needed, to make sure that Paul was all right. Just needed a peak inside his room to ensure that he was in his bed, just needed to hear the small soft moanes he always made in his sleep.

Whether it was from exhaustion, expectation, worry or need, John grabbed his robe and _stumbled_ out of his room. He didn't know what to feel exactly when he faced the door to Paul's, the only thing he could feel was the cold sweat droplets on his skin beginning to run down his face. He closed his fingers over the handle and pushed it open, expecting a creaking noice that never came. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples as he stepped inside, the room being way too quiet to contain James Paul McCartney.

John's breath got caught up in his throath as he spotted the empty bed, the covers thrown off. But then, when his eyes nervously darted across the dark room, his gaze landed on the figure sitting on the window; his arms hugging his knees and his gaze on the outside. It didn't matter that it was fairly dark, because John would've reckognized him anywhere; his long, elegant legs that moved in the most unhuman and charming ways on stage, the dark, brown hair that he spent hours of the day combing, and his soft and round cheeks than John sometimes wanted to squeeze the hell out of whenever he teased him. He was his best mate, and John knew Paul like no one else. He could even imagine his thoughtfull frown right now as he gazed out at the people wandering in the still night outside.

John's mouth must have unintentially made a sound, because Paul's head snapped from an unfocused gaze to John's eyes. His big, hazel eyes always captured him, but this time, it was different. Paul's eyes didn't smile to him, like they always did. They didn't have that worry in them, that care for John (like the concerned glances Paul would cast John every time John sang particularly high-pitched songs, because he knew what it did to John's throath.) Now, his eyes looked right through him, almost like John was just some bug he could easily get rid off. John would've wanted anything else. He wanted Paul to scream at him at the top of his precious lounges, he wanted him to slap him again, or punch him hard in the face. Just anything, oh anything, but this. Because when Paul's head casually moved back to the nightsky, not bothering to give John a second glance, his heart shattered.

"Paul..." As John whispered his name, the memories from that awful, heart-wrenching dream came back to him.  
_'This is going to hurt Paul... C'mon Macca, keep your eyes open...'_

"Macca, p-please."

The unfamiliar sound of John Lennon's stutter made Paul's head instictually snap to him again. He turned to John with those big eyes, an eyebrow raised and his lips slightly parted.  
_'God, my beautiful boy.'_

Just looking at him now was unbearable. The guilt was eating him alive, the memories of the dead Paul flashing before his eyes. It was all too much. When something else caught Paul's attention, John followed his eyes down to his own hands. Only then did he realise, that they were quivering madly. But he couldn't controll it. He couldn't stop himself. Soon enough, his legs joined in, and he was struggling to mentain his balance.

"Oi, John?" Paul's voice echoed beautifully in John's ears, even though it made him shiver, beacuse he recalled so well...  
_'John...John...Johnny. It's all right, Johnny.'_

John's eyes were watering, and he hated it. John Lennon didn't fucking cry, for anything. Not even when his mum dies. He just doesn't cry. But despite his major, internal struggle, the tears were pressing on and threatening to burst forth like a waterfall, and John didn't realise why.

But when Paul raised and hesitantly took a step in John's direction, he realised. How much shit could one person take from John? How much shit before their turn on their heel and sprint? Paul was for sure the one who'd stuck around and beared with him the longest, but it was always a matter of time. That's just John, and he fucking hates it, but it's just him to push, and push, and push until they can't breathe anymore. John was on the verge of crying because he was afraid to lose that fucking amazing boy, his best mate. But he was more than that. Paul was more than that. He didn't mean alot to him - he meant the world to him. No song across the universe could describe how John felt about him, but he promised himself right there and then that one day, no matter where Paul might be in the world, he would try to write one.

John's bowed head was lifted with a gentle finger under his chin, and he was now facing the youger man that stood right infront of him, his eyes burning into John's as if they searched for the truth. Now, his fucking magical eyes looked at John with concern, with care. Paul still cared about him. He cared.

"What is it, John?" His soft voice, barely a whisper, was the last straw. John's eyes dripped with tears before he could register. The walls, the walls that had been holding him up, making him strong just... collapsed. Moment by moment, they fell. Salty drops fell from his chin, drenching his shirt. He was trembling, and he couldn't stop. Even as he pressed his hand against the wall for supprt, it shook, it trembled. It was raw; raw tears, raw emotions. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Oh, Johnny..."

Slowly, very slolwy, John felt two arms wrap themselves around his waist in the most gentle way, almost like they were afraid that John would break. John didn't know wheter he collapsed, or melted, into the safe hold that kept pressing him tighter, he hardly even realised how violently his body was shaking. Neither did he know if this was all beacuse of regret, or if it was relief; relief because he had never felt Paul so alive before, with his arms wrapped around him like that. And the only thing he needed, was for Paul to be around. John buried his head in the crook of Paul's neck, and found the strength to wrap his arms around his back, pulling him even closer to himself.

John let out a quivery sigh when he felt Paul snuggle his cheek into the side of John's head. They stood like that for God knows how long. But John had, strangly enough, never felt more comfortable, and uncomfortable, at the same time. John felt like grabbing Paul by his loose t-shirt when he felt him pull away, but couldn't gather the strength to do it. He pulled his head back and, though John wouldn't meet Paul's stare, he knew that he was being watched intensely.

When Paul hands cupped John's face, John automatically closed his eyes and slightly snuggled into his hold. Paul's soft, yet strong, hands were the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground. When John opened his eyes, he barely got to lock them with Paul's before Paul crushed him in the most squeezing hug he'd ever had to suffer through. Though suffer wasn't the right word now - the quite opposite of what it felt like actually.

"You are in pain, Johnny. I'm sorry I was too blind to see it." Then, with his arms tight wrapped around Paul, his eyes landed on the heap of emtpy bottles on the floor by Paul's bed. John only then noticed that the whole room oozed of alcohol. Paul's breath, though, didn't smell of alcohol, so John figured he'd been drinking earlier that day. Fuck, early drinking was always a bad sign. "John, I'm sorry I didn't see it. I'm so sorry for everything."  
_'It's all right, Johnny. Please, I'm sorry for eveything._ The words haunted John.

"Oh no, Paul," John breathed, "don't ye' fucking dare."

"It's my fault." Paul rushed, his voice sounding all strangled just like in the dream. John pulled away, cupping Paul's face and forcing the younger boy's eyes to burn into his own. Paul's eyes were clearly watering too, now.

"-hey, look, it's alright." John led Paul to the bed and sat him down next to him, throwing an arm around him and stroking his upper arm. Without hesitaion, Paul bruised his face in the crook of John's neck, chest hiccupping as little, silent tears escaped from his eyes, dampening the shoulder of John's robe.

"Shh, don't cry, love. I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I'm being a big fucking prat, like always."

"You're not." Paul sat up, wiping his eyes furiously, giving John the biggest, wettest, puppy-dog eyes he'd ever seen. God, Paul was so unaware of the power he held. Just with that look, John would've ran to fucking Australia just to fetch him a smile. "I should've known. I should've been there. Fuck, I-I should've been there for you, Johnny."

"You do everything, Macca," John assured as he pressed his forhead against Paul's, "-you do everything for me, every _fucking_ day. It's me, Paulie. Y'see, I do this to people. I strangle them, take the fucking life out of 'em. They all leave, and I don't blame ye for wanting to either. They all leave, in the end."

"You fool, Lennon." Paul hissed through his teeth without thinking any further, almost breathless. It felt so good in his mouth that he said it again, "You fool," and then he pressed his lips onto John's with much force that John let out a surprised moan, and then he kissed him.

John responded immidiatley, tipping his head to the side and opening his mouth, and giddiness rocketed through him. The feeling of Paul's fierce, demanding, desperate and soft lips against his own took his breath away. Never like he had imagined it. It was so, so much fucking better. His mind sang like an aria, fool fool fool. And John fought so hard with himself not to let out an unsatisfied groan as Paul slightly pulled away.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, y'daft sod. I'll stay as long as you'll have me...and even if there comes a day when you won't.." Paul whispered, their lips barely touching, lingering against each other, "I'll stick around and bother the shit out of you for the rest of your miserable life."

That caused a long-awaited chuckle to escape John's lips, and John felt his insides lighten up a little. God - Paul was so fucking beautiful. His worries about the likely turbulence of their future hadn't exactly been far-fetched, but John struggled to care when he had Paul there, now, and there was nothing immediate to stop them. Knowing his luck, they'd probably fizzle out into nothing before the years ended. He had a bad habit of driving the people he loved away- and Paul had put up with him longer than most.

"Paul..." he whispered slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. He allowed a hand to rake through Paul's hair as his gaze lingered on Paul's face, "-God, you're fucking beautiful." Paul's breath caught up in his throath, and just as he was about to hide his face and the creeping blush, John cupped his face and made him look at him. Seeing the adorable, little smile that crept onto Paul's lips made John fall into a state of uncontrollable, sincere and honest emotions.

"I dreamt, Paulie..." he whispered, his mind telling him to stop talking, but his mouth not obeying his thoughts, "y-you were - Paul, you were - oh, _fuck_ -"

"Shh, Johnny, it's alright," Paul assured, closing the small distance between them with a tiny peck on the corner of his lips, making John's eyes lit up in a way that made Paul's heart melt, "talk to me, love."

" _Love_ -" John repeated, his voice cracking, "that's what y'said to me before..." he cleared his throath, "before ye died on me, Paul. Y-you left me, Macca. And I thought, I-I thought-"

"Oh, darling..." Paul stroke his chin, leaning forward to soflty kiss away the silent tears that streamed down John's cheek. John took the opportunity to place a firm hand in Paul's hair, kissing his head like he did in...like he did in that fucking _awful_ dream. Paul moaned softly, snuggling into John's chest as he fought tears of his own.

"You should've seen it, Paulie, it was horrible. You looked horrible, and there was n-nothing I could do to save you. And then you told me before you closed yer eyes, y' told me that you- that you - oh get a fucking _grip_ , Lennon."

"What did I tell you, Johnny?"

John buried his head in Paul's hair, breathing in that wonderful McCartney smell that was way beyond compare. "Something I should've told you much sooner, Paulie." he mumbled with his lips pressed against Paul's head, "And not in a fucking dream." Paul pulled away now, his body hesitantly moving to John's side. John cleared his throath as he layed down on the pillow and faced Paul, his hand finding its way to stroke Paul's cheek.

"Paul, I-" John started, but stopped himself and looked away rather shamefully from Paul's intense stare; John Lennon was nothing but a weak bastard. Before the self-destructive thoughts could eat him alive, John's head was directed back to Paul's gaze by a thumb under his chin. Paul didn't say anything, but his face told him everything he needed to hear. The same eyes he had looked into for years now as he searched for comfort and meaning. The beautiful, hazel eyes that seemed to call on him like a moth to a flam. He wanted to drown in them for eternity.

"Love you."

Paul inhaled sharply, his hands curling around John's biceps as he gathered his strength and pulled him on top of himself, their forheads pressing together as their breaths mingled. John's startled, yet delighted face brought a grin to Paul's lips.

"And I love you, John. Always have."

Something gave in John like old floorboards rotting through, insistent memories of him and Paul, all the moments shared and glances exhanged. The instant joy every time Paul entered the room, or when he came over to his house unnannounced - just to be with John.

John began nuzzling Paul's neck with delicate kisses, adrenaline coursing painfully through the both of them. Paul's body began to tremble. His head was angled slightly to the side as John's lips came closer and closer to his own. Paul's arms tangled around his strong neck in an effort to push his lips even closer to his own skin. All of a sudden, Paul's delightful laughter filled the room, and John pulled away confused, a grin soon finding its way to his face as he studied the adorably hilarious expression on Paul's face.

"It's _tickling_!" Paul exlaimed, still giggling. John raised an amused eyebrow as he gave up fighting his urge to squeeze Paul's round cheeks,

"Ya' queer."

_"Fag."_

"Princess."

_"Queen."_

"Nancy-boy."

_"Prick-licker."_

"Ah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Macca?"

_"John!"_

And then John attacked Paul's face, neck, chest, and eventually his whole body with small kisses, making the younger howl with uncontrollable laughter as he twitched and kicked. John couldn't help but laugh along. Because deep down in his heart he knew, oh he _knew_ , that this fucking fantasic, beautiful boy was his. Paul was his, and there wasn't a fucking thing anyone could do about it. Because the moment he became his was when they saw each other for the first time in Woolton on 6 July at the St. Peter's Church garden fête.

And he would never, ever leave him.


End file.
